


This Land of Make-Believe

by tj_teejay



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Catholic Guilt, College, Community: daredevilkink, Gen, Thanksgiving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2015-11-29
Packaged: 2018-05-04 01:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5314670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tj_teejay/pseuds/tj_teejay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foggy invites Matt to spend their first Thanksgiving together with the whole extended Nelson brood. And everyone is nice and supportive and lovely, and Matt just... can’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Land of Make-Believe

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** Written for [this kinkmeme prompt](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/6237.html?thread=11528029#cmt11528029). Happy (belated) Thanksgiving from all the way over here in Germany, all you US peeps!  
>  Title from [“So Cold”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=maprNsfMS3s) by Breaking Benjamin. Thanks to Ash for the beta!  
> Disclaimer for the OP: I completely glossed over that first part and jumped straight to the angst. I’m sorry...? I hope you enjoy it anyway.  
>  **Timeframe:** Set during Matt and Foggy’s college days.
> 
> +-+-+-+-+

“Matt?”

Jesus. It’s Foggy. His voice is urgent. Insistent. Matt is glad he locked the bathroom door.

“Matt, are you in there?”

He sucks in a breath, a new urge to gag working its way up his chest from the smell of the puke. He quickly flushes the toilet, leaning back on his heels to escape the offensive olfactory melee that assaults his senses.

Another two seconds. Three. He holds on to the rim of the toilet, then pushes himself upward with a grunt. The cold water from the tap he splashes in his face brings a meager relief.

“Matt?” The voice is muffled by the door between them. “I gotta know that you’re okay in there, buddy. Talk to me.”

Matt opens the door, and from the spike in Foggy’s heartrate, he knows he startled him.

Foggy shrinks back. There’s a hissed, “Jesus, man,” followed by silence. Then, “You look like shit, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Matt chokes out and, yeah, it sounds way too forced.

He squeezes past Foggy, needs to escape. Somewhere where there’s people, where Foggy won’t ask the hard questions. The ones that Matt can practically hear already in his tone of voice.

But Foggy isn’t so easily fooled, and Matt suddenly hates him for that. Hates how he has that uncanny ability to barrel straight through Matt’s defenses as if they’re paper-thin. There’s a soft, warm hand on Matt’s upper arm, stopping him.

Foggy’s voice is worried. “Hey. Matt. Hold on a second. Did you just upchuck in there? Are you sick? Maybe you should lie down.”

“I’m not sick, Foggy. I’m fine.” Matt’s tone is harsh—maybe too harsh, but he can’t bring himself to care.

“Yeah, that’s bullshit, and you know it.”

“Leave it alone, please.”

Foggy’s hand lets go, and Matt misses the warmth of his touch—

No. He shouldn’t. Foggy’s just trying to be nice. He dragged Matt out here not to have to make the trip alone, and now he’s worried Matt will keep him up all night, puking his guts out from some stomach bug. He doesn’t really care how Matt feels, right?

Foggy doesn’t relent. “No, I’m not gonna leave it alone. And you haven’t answered my question. Did you just puke? What’s going on, Matt?”

In the second it takes him to decide whether to lie or not, something must have flitted across his face, because Foggy’s hand is back on his left arm, and the other joins on the right side. Matt likes the touch, the firm but gentle affirmation of it.

Foggy’s voice is low. Concerned. Matt wants to cry because he doesn’t deserve all this honest, earnest attention. “Hey, come on, let’s go to my room, okay?”

Matt lets Foggy steer him to his old room where he more or less deposits Matt on the edge of the bed. He hovers for a moment, then sits down next to him. “Please talk to me, buddy. You’re kinda scaring me a little here.”

Matt sighs. He can’t tell Foggy. Can’t explain it to him. Not in a way that he would understand and not run screaming, thinking he’s a total freak. “I’m just...” he stammers, then falls silent.

Foggy is patient, but not that patient. “You’re just... what?”

“Overwhelmed, I guess.”

“With what? My family? Are the kids too loud? The rooms too messy? The food not okay?”

“No, just... It’s...” His face crumples. It comes out as a whisper. “Everything.”

He can sense Foggy scrubbing a hand over his face, a heavy breath tearing from his mouth. “Oh God, I’m a dick. A stupid, oblivious, total dick.” There’s a heavy silence, then Foggy’s low, “You’re not used to so many people in close proximity, are you? All the touching and the attention, and the constant noise.”

Matt’s forehead pulls into a frown. Maybe he doesn’t have to explain it, even if Foggy doesn’t get the full extent of it. Cause, uh-huh. Foggy is pretty damn close.

“Yeah,” Matt just says.

“So you’re not sick, just overwhelmed? That’s why you hurked our tender, perfect turkey into the toilet bowl?”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“Duh, Murdock. No one means to puke up their dinner if they can help it. Unless you’re bulimic. Oh God, you’re not bulimic, are you?”

He allows himself a small smile that doesn’t pass the corners of his mouth. “No, I’m not bulimic.”

Foggy stays quiet, Matt can tell he’s fidgeting with his hands in his lap. “So, uhm... What do you wanna do? Just stay up here for a while? Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Matt says, a little too quickly, too desperately.

“How about we take a walk, escape the Nelson madness for a little while?”

That actually sounds great, except... “Foggy, it’s dark outside.”

Foggy lets out a _pssh_ sound. “So what. I’ll get a Maglite from the garage, and, hey, for once _you’ll_ have the advantage.”

He's already getting up, and tapping the back of Matt’s hand—Matt reflexively opens it. Foggy takes it to drag Matt back up, and for a moment it feels like maybe he wants to draw him into a hug. But he doesn’t, although he doesn't let go of Matt’s hand for another long two seconds. “Come on, put your shoes on and grab your jacket. I’ll go and make up a halfway believable excuse for the parental units and other concerned parties.”

Not five minutes later, they are strolling through the neighborhood. Matt has his left hand lightly placed around Foggy’s right elbow, his cane softly tapping the ground. The air smells of earth and winter, and unfamiliar scents Matt’s can’t quite place. It’s quiet here—nothing like the city. He’s never known life outside of Manhattan.

“Curb,” Foggy announces, and they slow down. Matt expertly navigates the concrete ledge and then they pick up the pace again.

They walk in silence until Foggy breaks it. “Is this better?”

“Yeah. It’s nice.”

“It’s fucking freezing.”

“Do you wanna go back?”

“No, it’s cool. To be honest, I could use a little break myself. The whole brood all at once is a bit much to take. And then there’s Uncle Don and his oh-so subtle racist bullshit. Seriously, I wanna whack that man over the head with a baseball bat the moment he opens his mouth. I keep asking Mom not to invite him, but, well, that’s the thing about the Nelsons. Family is family.”

And that, right there, brings it all crashing back down. Suddenly, Matt doesn’t remember why he’s even here. He’s not family. A mere act of pity for Foggy to bring him along.

He must have slowed his step, because Foggy stops. Matt breaks the physical connection and lets his arm sink to his side. Maybe they should go back. But there’s something in Foggy’s tone that makes him stay rooted to the spot. “I’m sorry, Matt. This... I’m being a dick again. The whole family thing, you... I can’t even imagine what it’s like to not have this. The celebrations and the holidays and the food and laughing. It must be... I don’t know. Is this too much? Should I stop talking about it? Tell me what to do, I don’t wanna make you more uncomfortable.”

“It’s okay, Foggy.” And maybe he means it. Maybe it’s okay. Or gonna be. Or maybe not. Cause this isn’t something he should have. Or want.

And then Foggy’s hands are on his upper arms, spinning him around. “No, Matt, it’s _not_ okay. Something here is very much not okay. And I... I wish you would tell me what it is. Cause I want you to be happy, okay? I want you to be able to enjoy this, and I... I don’t know how.” He sighs. “Maybe this was a bad idea. Tell me this was a bad idea, and I’ll... I don’t know... we’ll go back tomorrow. First thing in the morning. I’ll make up some bogus excuse. Is that what—”

“No,” Matt interrupts him, pulling out of Foggy’s grasp. “No, Foggy, I don’t want to be burden. You’ve already done enough. All this... you... you should spend time with your family. I’ll go back on my own.”

“Wait. What? A burden? Are you kidding me?” Foggy’s hands are back on his arms, squeezing a little harder now. “Is that what you’ve been thinking all this time? That this is some kind of pity party and I just dragged you along for the heck of it?”

Matt’s voice is small. “Haven’t you?”

Foggy releases his hands. It leaves Matt bereft of purpose and energy. There’s something heavy in Foggy’s voice when he speaks. “I can’t... I can’t believe you’re even asking that. Because no. A hundred times no. Oh Matt,” he chokes out, and then arms come around his body, and there’s two hundred pounds of Foggy enveloping all accessible parts of Matt.

By the time Foggy pulls away, they’re both crying. Foggy cuffs him lightly on the arm. “You are such a clueless idiot,” he chuckles wetly. “You’re family now. This is where you belong. And I’m a monumental ass for abandoning you when you had all this tough shit going on. I can’t believe I didn’t see it. I’m sorry, Matt.”

“No, I’m the one who should be apologizing.”

“For what? For your misplaced Catholic guilt getting the better of you? No, you don’t get to do that. I won’t let you. I’ll give you three hundred hugs instead if that’s what it takes to pull you out of this funk.”

“It’s not a funk, Foggy.”

“But it’s _some_ thing. Something that doesn’t have a place here right now. I just... I’d like you to enjoy the rest of your stay. Do you think you can do that? Can you try?”

He nods. “Yeah, I can try.”

“Okay. Do you wanna keep walking?”

Matt hesitates. It’s getting cold, his fingers are freezing. He shivers slightly. “No, let’s head back.”

“Are you sure?”

He takes Foggy’s elbow. Lightly. Hesitantly. It’s a fragile peace offering. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay. Shit. Where the hell are we? I’ve totally lost track.”

Matt strengthens his grip on Foggy’s arm and softly tugs at it. “This way. Turn left at the next intersection.”

“Seriously? You can retrace all our steps?”

Matt shrugs. “Being blind doesn’t equal not having a sense of direction, you know.”

There’s a smile in Foggy’s voice. “Okay, I guess I had that coming. Lead the way then, Murdock.”

When they get back to the house, there are cheers and muffled shouts greeting them from the vicinity of the living room.

“Football game. Annual Nelson tradition to watch that after dinner,” Foggy tells him in the corridor as they’re taking off their coats. “You wanna skip that and curl up on that lovely, creaking bed of mine upstairs? I’ll find you some earplugs too, if you want.”

Matt gives him a smile, and this time it lights up his face. “No, let’s go join the crowd.”

Foggy stops him just shy of the door. “Promise me you’ll say something if you wanna go up. Or, I don’t know, do something else.”

Matt brings the smile back. It feels nice. There is no guilt in its wake this time, and that’s an amazing thing he wants to hold on to. “I promise, Foggy.”

+-+-+-+-+

Hours later, Matt lies in Foggy’s bed—because Foggy insisted long and hard Matt should get the better deal in terms of sleeping arrangements—and he is nicely buzzing from the alcohol that was just a little too much.

Another grin spreads across his face, and there’s something wrapping around every fiber of his being that he thinks must be joy. It’s become more tangible than he thought possible, but it could also be because the room is spinning and everything just seems that much more vivid and amplified.

He can hear Foggy shifting around on the foam mattress at the other end of the room. There are grunts, and then a soft giggle out of nowhere. “You still awake?” Foggy whispers.

“Yeah.”

“I’m, like, super drunk. Everything is two hundred percent funnier. Are you drunk?”

“I think I may be.”

Foggy voice slurs a little. “Is everything two hundred percent funnier?”

“Everything is two hundred percent more vibrant.”

“Vibrant? Coming from a blind guy? You _must_ be drunk, Murdock.”

Matt stays silent, revels in the glow of the evening that’s swirling all around him and casts all ugliness aside. He thinks Foggy may have already fallen asleep by the time he speaks again. “Foggy?”

“Yeah.”

“Thank you.”

There’s that _pssh_ sound again. “You can thank me tomorrow when you wake up with a raging hangover.”

Matt doesn’t. Because, well, the hangover royally sucks. More than Foggy could ever imagine.

Still, Matt doesn’t have any regrets. None whatsoever.

+-+-+-+-+


End file.
